As You Pass Me By
by Apathyisdeath
Summary: Ferelden's peasant heroine resides forgotten: half a decade post-Blight in Highever with her husband and young daughter. Her world is a bland one, until her ex-lover, the bastard King and Queen Anora's husband, seeks her help.
1. In The Arms of Sleep

_A/N: This may get confusing, but trust me; all will be explained in following chapters._

_Chapter Two takes place nearly six years after these events._

* * *

**As You Pass Me By**

_"I'll always miss her wherever she goes,_

_and I'll always need her more than she...could ever need me._

_I need someone to ease my mind, but I want you to know,_

_That I need you right now...I need you tonight._

_And I'll say anything to keep her here tonight,_

_and I'll be anything to keep her here tonight._

_Cause I want you to stay...with me._

_I need you tonight."_

_~ In The Arms of Sleep - The Smashing Pumpkins_

The Arl's estate had been set for a grand celebration. The triumphant heroes had returned from their battle, and the Archdemon now lay dead. All of Ferelden's troubles were over, or at least, long forgotten in the deepest bucket of mead.

Trija Tabris had been throwing up in her quarters for what seemed like some time. While her stomach heaved, she had not taken into account that her hair had become unfastened from the back of her head in a rather unladylike fashion, her forehead glistening with a sticky sheen of sweat. It was always at odd times did she empty her stomach involuntarily. Usually when her emotions were in such a tangle, like they were now. Everytime she thought about what had happened, her stomach would squirm in protest at the memories and empty itself. But she couldn't help it; they would not leave her alone.

She kept seeing Alistair's hand reaching for Anora's as they joined the ceremony most of all, and the human female snatching her own away. She could still smell the sharp, sickly smell of wine and beer through the air. The smell of the roasting meat for the feast. She also kept seeing the content expression on her friend's faces, the blank expression Sten always wore as she suggested she travel to his homeland alongside him. Groaning at the thought and gulping out for the last time, Trija wiped her mouth on the back of arm, letting the sleeves of her icy-blue frock fall back down past her wrists as she raised herself shakily to her feet.

She was supposed to be meeting Sten by the harbour so that they could get on a ship together and travel to Par Vollen in a few days time. There would be no goodbyes. Much easier that way. Trija noticed the creep of flimsy fabric creeping down her arm; the frock again. Suppressing a growl, the young elf grabbed at the fabric, not really knowing what to do with it. Pulling on it as hard as she could, she smiled bitterly as the swooshing fabric was tore apart from the gold embroidery at the top of her arms. She noticed her faithful Mabari watching her as she proceeded to do the same with the other arm. He cocked his head at her, almost as if to ask what had gotten in to her.

"Don't worry boy, just...improving it," She mumbled, still ripping. "It's how they wear their stupid bloody dresses in bloody Par Vollen!" The dog continued to cock his head. She did not seem to notice that she had shouted the last two words, letting her hands fly up slightly. She paced back and forth by her bed, as if mulling over an important speech, but in an incredibly angry way.

"You know what, Rabbit? I would love right now to just be able to turn back the stupid metaphorical clock and go back to the time when I...I was was happy in the Alienage." The dog started to cock his head again. You don't mean that, he seemed to say.

"Don't I?" Trija yelled. "It wasn't much...but it was my life...I was actually happy! Sure, I didn't want to get married I was only eighteen for the love of-"

Trija stopped in her yelling. She could hear people singing downstairs.

"Right." She stated, sounding defiant. "I am through with this." She seized a handful of hem from her dress and once again pulled it between her hands. Finally shaking her hair free, she chuckled sourly as the fabric ripped, leaving it no longer trailing around her ankles but gathered around her knees. She used the torn fabric to wipe the horrible make-up and perspiration from her face. Finally turning her gaze upon what seemed like her only trustworthy companion, Trija gave him an apologetic look.

"Stay there, boy," she commanded. "If I'm not back again this time tomorrow then...go to the kitchens and cause all the trouble you can, ok?"

Rabbit waggled his stump of a tail. "That's my boy."

* * *

Exiting down the cold staircase barefoot had been less painful than she had expected. It seemed that what seemed like a lifetime of roughing it in camps under the stars had made her immune to the cold. The hallway was now silent, she was almost certain that everyone was on the other side of the estate, making merry times and being able to drunkenly kiss whomsoever they please without worrying if they had affected Ferelden in any way, waking up the next morning shrugging off a hangover and trotting off to work. The elf sniffed at the thought. That could have been me, she thought. I could be living a normal life right now if Duncan had gone somewhere else. Why come to an Alienage, of all places? No talent there, just vagrants and wife-beaters. She shook the dark thoughts out of her head.

She had managed to get herself down the staircase without even a servant noticing her. Or, so she thought.

"Where are you going?" Came a familiar voice from behind her. Spinning around on her heel, Trija turned to face the voice. It was Soris. The woman was shocked to feel disappointment flutter through her chest. She hesitated for a moment.

"They're holding a ceremony down by the waterfront. They managed to find the remains of some men from Denerim who died in the battle. There's going to be a little procession of the coffins and such, loved ones are going to say goodbye and old men are going to tell us we're all going to die. So just lots of grieving women, really." She smiled sadly. Soris opened his mouth to object. Crossing his arms across his chest, he offered a smile.

"I won't stop you, cousin. I...I'm just glad you're still here." Before she knew it, he had closed the gap between her and swept her up in a massive bear hug. "I'm going to miss you, you know." He whispered.

"Are you going somewhere?"

Soris sighed knowingly. "So, I'm guessing news doesn't travel as fast in the city as I'd hoped." He struggled to find the words. "I'm going to make my way to Highever. I want to...find my fortune, so to speak. But just imagine, cousin; they don't even have an Alienage there. And I've heard the ruling family are lovely people. They have quite a nice daughter." She knew he would be waggling his eyebrows dreadfully.

Trija laughed into her cousin's shoulder.

"Please, just don't go anywhere without me just yet. I'll be back."

* * *

It was sad to see the hysterical women. There were plenty of them, alot more than Trija could ever had imagined fit into Denerim. They all sobbed as the remains passed them by, Trija herself could have easily have been recognised as a grieving young elven maiden from the Alienage who had lost a brave husband in the battle. No one around here really knew who she was. She had been forgotten, it seemed, in the coronation of the new King and Queen. Long may they reign, she thought icily.

It seemed like it was expected of the newly-made widows of Denerim to throw flowers down at the feet of the procession as it passed. A variety of different colours landed, shades of purple, blue, orange, yellow, green, and even flowers with many colours mixed into the rainbow. Wives and girlfriends stared thoughtfully at their flowers before casting them down, as if giving away their lover's most prized possession. Trija thumbed the rose she had held in her hands for some time now. She had been given it months prior, when she was much more naïve. The once-beautiful petals had nearly completely perished, their faces completely crushed from being inside a dry backpack, the edges coated in a thick, black rot that threatened to choke the whole plant, the petals no longer a lovely, fresh red but a colour that had rotted a dark purple, small holes left from curious bug-nibbles.

Placing a quivering index finger over one of the small holes, she tried to hold back the memories that burst through her mind. She would not remember. Without so much as a second thought, the young elven maiden was seen throwing down her lost lover's dying rose to the earth, almost angrily.

* * *

It was darker now, and Trija had not seen Alistair...or The New King, as she simply referred to him in her mind. He was not her Alistair. He was not the nervous inexperienced Chantry-boy she had met so long ago. He was a confident ruler, his mind, it seemed, completely cleansed of their past and seemed not to remember that he had ever been in more than a polite conversation with the Hero of Ferelden. Trija scoffed to herself, fastening the clasp on her travelling cloak tightly around her neck.

"I must seem like a moody cow to you, cousin." Trija sighed, adressing Soris. He chuckled at this.

"Not at all! I've seen you moody, cousin, trust me; it gets worse. Like when Allendria used to call you 'the Elven Librarian' because of that calm voice of yours. Now then, you got moody."

Trija snorted at the memory. "Bitch deserved to fall off that wall. My voice is calm...that's my battle-voice."

"Only you would have a battle-voice at the age of twelve, cousin."

A silence fell between them for a while.

"Ready to go?" Soris asked quietly. Trija hoped Sten would not mind.

"Ready as I'll ever be!"

"Alright, then. To Highever!"


	2. A Vendetta

_A/N: I am very stalwart in typing this; I feel really ill after eating some bad Quorn bacon. Bwoaaahh.  
Alistair doing magic tricks...I'm sure you know Steve Valentine is a magician, don't you! Not to mention a magician/murderer in a recent episode of one of my all-time favourite shows _Monk_. I used the word 'Mum' because Ferelden has mostly English accents, no? I know, I don't say it either. Thanks for some lovely reviews for the last chapter. Did not expect them! Merry Christmas, for those celebrating! Are you getting the odd Underline Bug? :S_****

Five Years Later

_"I was hu-happy until you threw me out!"  
"Happiness is a prison, Evey. Happiness is the most insidious prison of all."  
"That's warped! That's warped and evil and wrong! When you threw me out I went to live with somebody. I...I was in love with him. I was happy! If that's a prison, then I don't care!"  
~ V For Vendetta (Alan Moore)_

Alistair had never fully understood why she had made him King. He had once told her that he understood, but he didn't; not fully anyway. Even as he sat here now, surrounded by his nobles and followers he did not understand. It had been nearly six years after everything. After the defeat of the Archdemon, after his coronation and after his (he shuddered at the thought) wedding. A meeting of sorts had been called in his estate. The richest, most powerful leaders near and in Denerim had gathered there; apparently there was some sort of trouble in Orlais, and Anora feared they would bring their trouble to Ferelden in the form of war. Alistair had tried as much as he could to keep his focus on the middle-aged advisor addressing them all.  
_  
"..._Making this a suspectable reason for the upset North in Orlais. I am sure we are all, however, aware of their riches. They are a proud country, greedy some say. What I propose is this; gather an army of a respectable size, so that we, and Orlais know that we are well prepared for this possible uprising."  
Alistair's mind began to wander for a moment. He remembered the last time he had fought properly; alongside his friends, his love and even some of his enemies. Alistair had not seen any of them after the celebrations, especially not Trija. He remembered the night well.

_It was hard to actually __recognise__ any of his friends under the bright colours, and, of course, under the loud victory song of the Bard. A massive crowd had formed for the Bard and her songs, possibly a few tipsy admirers. The Bard was a gorgeous human maiden, probably not much older than seventeen, accompanied by her musicians. Alistair knew that Leliana had been talking to the girl in between songs, but he could not find the woman anywhere. Spotting her red hair at the front of the crowd, he carefully squeezed through it, wanting very much to go unnoticed by any of his own admirers.  
"Leliana!" He shouted. Seeing her head turn, she waved at him enthusiastically. The song was near its end when he got to her.  
"Come for a song, Your Majesty?" She asked into his ear. He grimaced at those words._

"I-uh, not yet, I was wondering if you'd...seen Trija?" A familiar look lit up Leliana's eyes.  
"Ohh, I saw her go outside with Soris." She pointed a finger towards the door and beamed at him. Alistair patted her upper arm in thanks.  
"Great, thanks Leliana." He broke away from her, his walk turning into a jog. Again, the elf was no where to be seen near the exit of the estate. Late-comers were quickly coming through the massive, open double doors, arm-in-arm and in their best clothing. There were humans, elves, dwarves, even some races Alistair could not name but none of them was the Hero of Ferelden. Alistair cursed strongly under his breath, realising she had already gone...without saying goodbye. He flinched when he felt a hand placed on his shoulder. He turned around and felt the disappointment stab through him; it was Anora.  
"Are you coming back to...your people, my lord?" She asked icily. Alistair took a step away from the cold woman, making her hand drop from his shoulder. She sighed.  
"You know she's not going to come back, Alistair. I think you and I both know that she's too strong-minded to be humiliated in such a way as to see her love getting married." Anora scoffed.  
Alistair turned around to her.  
"Just what is that supposed to mean?"  
"I was merely-" Anora ended her sentence. "No, never mind that now. Come back to the festivities. It seems the commoners would like you to perform them a magic trick of sorts." She added sarcastically. Adding a remark under his breath and taking one last look at the door, Alistair followed his wife.

"What are your thoughts, Your Majesty?"  
Alistair looked up from the carpet he had been staring at.  
"I....er, yes! War...certainly if..er-"  
"What my husband means that we will, by all means, be prepared against such an attack." Anora interrupted his mumblings. The gathering seemed to exhale in relief.  
"Sire, if I may suggest...?" The advisor piped up. Alistair smiled warmly at him and gestured.  
"By all means..." He trailed off pathetically, not remembering his own advisor's name. The advisor did not seem to notice this, but proceeded regardless.  
"I would advise that we send for the Hero of Ferelden; Trija Tabris. It has been recorded that she lives in Highever now with another Tabris. If we could have her with us, with her own soldiers, involved in the city's defense, we would be practically untouchable."

Alistair wanted to kiss the advisor. On the mouth.  
"_That_ is an excellent idea, Recro." He finally remembered the name. He could see Trija now: her icy-blue eyes, her prematurely-silver hair, strands flying to caress her cheek. She never could tie her hair properly. Perhaps it would have grown longer with the time. He knew her well though, she wouldn't have it too long. It would be in the way.  
"Should I send some men to Highever, Sire?" Recro stopped his train of thought again. Alistair raised a hand to dismiss the suggestion.  
"No, no, I do not mind going."  
Alistair wanted to grin as much as his face would let him._  
_

Recro had gone to the records to check exactly where Trija Tabris lived in Highever. It felt weird to think that name again after all these years of trying to bury it. _Tree-jaaa Tab-risss. _Alistair sounded the name out in his mind. He was surprised at the child-like excitement building up in him. It grew even more when Recro had written down the address. Aparrently it was a modest house on the outskirts of Highever, in the middle of a field, no less. That sounded just like her. Away from the little towns and little people. Alistair had assured Anora that he would be fine travelling by himself; it was not that far a journey; perhaps a day and a half.

* * *  
He stood at the small house now. It was just as he had imagined it. Small, handsome and situated in the middle of a golden field, surrounded by (of course) more golden fields. There were a few children dotted around these fields, playing games and making fond memories. Alistair took a few moments to observe them, smiling to himself. The town was visible just behind the house, dwarfing it in comparison. He could hear shouting coming from the other side of the door. It was, however, not angry shouting. It was a male voice shouting part of a conversation to a friend in a faraway room. It was familiar, but not recognisable. Taking in a deep breath, Alistair placed his knuckles against the door and rapped smartly. There was a few moments of silence in which he felt like an utter fool.

"Soris! SORIS! Bloody Soris!" Screamed a calm female voice. "Can you- get the- oh bloody, hell. Since when does she bloody knock..."  
The door was flung open and Alistair found himself face-to-face with none other than Trija Tabris. The wind was knocked out of him and he blinked at her stupidly for a minute. Her lips opened and closed in shock and she wore the same expression as he did. Her once short, silvery hair was now grown to her elbows, turned slightly blonde from the sun, it dazzled when caught in the sun's light. He noticed she had traded her turquoise eye make up in for a slight tinge of orange, the colour of the sun when it is about to set, her cheeks were blushing slightly; he couldn't decide why. It was odd to not see her in a heavy set of armour, but in a simple dress that matched the colour of her eye's make-up, the fabric on the arms a plain white, but the sleeves swirling down and around the arms and resting around her palms. She was still...beautiful. Even more gorgeous, if that was even possible. It was her that reacted first. She swept into a bow, something she would not have done for a human lord a few years earlier.

"Your Majesty." She uttered, her voice breathy, but just as he remembered. She straightened herself. "Please, come in."

* * *  
Trija turned away from the man at door and tried to still her shaking hands by wiping them or her dress. It was a very bad idea for him to be here. She had not expected to see him ever again, especially not in her family home. She could sense him following her into the front room of the house. She wanted to kiss him, that was the first sensible thought she had; but it was not sensible. Composing herself, she turned back to the King. He seemed to stare at her for a minute before summoning up the courage to speak.  
"Please..." He started. "You don't have to call me...'Your Majesty'.

Trija thought on this. "Then what will you call me?" She asked quietly. It sounded like a trick question, so Alistair hesitated before answering.  
"Miss...Tabris?" He offered. The woman laughed heartily but did not take that conversation further.

"So, A-Alistair...why-what has brought you to Highever?"  
"Denerim may be in some sort of danger." He sighed. "Anora thinks that Orlais is _plotting_ against us, or something to that extent, and that they will be attacking Denerim any day soon."  
"Ah. And you...how is Anora?" Trija lowered her voice. Alistair nodded.  
"Oh, she's....great." Alistair cleared his throat. An awkward silence fell between them. All Trija could think of was all those years ago.

_"I'm willing to...give it a shot, if you want me to."  
"Just follow my lead, Alistair."_

She was not sure if he was thinking of the same things, or just willing the situation to end. She decided to break the silence.  
"Alistair, you should re-" Trija was interrupted by the door a few feet away banging open clumsily, and someone entering. Alistair heard the person before he saw them.

"Muu-uum!" Moaned a childish voice. It was a little girl, she looked about four years old, coming only halfway past Trija's knees, but she was walking steadily. Her blue eyes were lit up with excitement, her brown locks were probably once brushed carefully, but they were now wind-swept and dishelved. Trija put a hand to her face and cursed under her breath. "Motherr, I just pushed Jace into some mud by accident and he said he's going to get his Dad but it _was_ an accident because he was already sitting by the mud and Alivel dared me to-"  
Trija walked over to the excited little girl and knelt in front of her, placing both her hands on her shoulders.  
"And do you ever think that maybe Jace gets bored of being pushed into the mud all the time by you, Sal?" The little girl narrowed her eyes at the woman.  
"No." She stated matter-of-factly. Trija suppressed a laugh and sighed, getting to feet.  
"Salvia, this is...well, this is Alistair. You have to be extra nice to him, ok? He's an old friend of mine and he's _very_ scary. He knew Leliana." Salvia gasped in admiration.  
"_You_ knew Leliana?" Trija shushed the girl.  
"Alistair...this is-" She was interrupted by Salvia giggling wildly. The woman sighed again.  
"What are you giggling at?" Salvia tried to look innocent.  
"Nothing!" She beamed.  
"As I was saying," she shot Salvia a deadly look. "Alistair, this is Salvia. She's...my daughter."


	3. Nobody Needs to Know

_A/N: Sorry it's so late! I've been _really _busy lately. I know, you're crushed. I'm not happy at all with this, but I figured I owed you lot an update and it had to be done! Plus. I haven't published anything in months. Sorry for a really boring chapter. Next update will be much quicker, and interesting. I just needed to get all of this out of the way._

**Chapter Three  
**_"All that I ask for is one little corner,_

_One private room at the back of my heart._

_Tell her I found one, she sends out...battalions_

_To claim it and blow it apart.  
I grip, and she grips, and faster we're sliding.  
Sliding and spilling...and what can I do?"  
~ Jamie, The Last Five Years.  
_  
Alistair tried to swallow the lump in his throat.  
"_Daughter?_" He repeated. Trija looked slightly uneasy.  
"Sal, why don't you go outside and say sorry to Jace?" The elf asked her daughter. Salvia sighed heavily, then turned and galloped out of the door again.

Following shortly afterwards, Trija pushed the ajar door closed, sighing bitterly.  
"That poor boy," she breathed to no one in particular "is tortured by her. She's always pushing him into something: mud, puddles, bushes, lakes." Alistair let out a breath of laughter; about as much as his throat would allow. Trija turned to face him and their gazes lingered for longer than was actually needed. Alistair steadied himself. He recalled every thought he had had for her in these past years: every time he had tried to bring her up in casual conversation, every time he had longed to wait for her at the gates of the estate and every time he had imagined her beautiful face. He had not expected her to be so...different. If was if she had read his thoughts.

"Are you...?" He trailed off, uncertain of what he really wanted to say. _Glad? Proud of yourself? Angry? Jealous? Regretful?  
"_Happy?" She offered. He nodded uncertainly. She seemed to mull this over for a minute before deciding.  
"Yes. I am." Trija assured. She resisted asking him the same.

"Alistair...a lot has changed. I'm not _The Warden _to anyone anymore, I'm just...someone's wife, and a little girl's mother. Hardly no one remembers what I've done."  
_Wife_, his mind growled. _That's not surprising. What did you expect, a Sister of the Chantry? Her to be expecting you to come here? Fool. Foolfoolfoolfoolfool. Just. Act. Calm. Not like it's anything horrible or unpleasant or terrifying, just a-_  
"Wife?" Alistair blurted. Surely turning red, he wanted to smack himself in the face.  
"Y-yes." She seemed intent on inspecting a small thread dangling from her sleeve.

"A few years ago after I...after I left Denerim, I came here to Highever to live with Soris. He and I came here just expecting to...well, we didn't really know why we came here. I just- felt I needed to. I had to." Five years and all she could mumble was this. She couldn't even meet his eyes.  
"Soris met his wife in about a week. I do not think that she was happy with me being an intrusion, but she can be a nice enough woman. He didn't waste much time in testing the taverns around here. I used to nag him about it every night, and when I cornered him one night after we'd been here for a few days, he just decided to bring me along to his favourite tavern. Then I knew why he was sneaking out all the time, to steal a brief glance at _Vanessa_." She said the name like it was the oddest name in Ferelden.

"A pretty young lass fond of the same taverns. _Very coincidental_. He followed her around like some droopy-eyed pup; after he actually plucked up the courage to speak to her, of course." She laughed bitterly. "I thought everyone had really gotten used to not asking who I was when Farridan noticed me. He's a writer from Orlais, and he said he recognized me and said he would love to ask me about the whole ordeal."  
"He was very charming, really. He didn't need to say much to get- to befriend me. After all we had been through together, I didn't want to leave Soris here with someone I barely knew. I stayed here, and Farridan couldn't convince me to go elsewhere." As the woman finished, Alistair coughed to clear his throat.  
_  
_"He's not a bad man, Alistair," she stated. "I mean, sometimes he will be off writing his stories, but he always comes back." He still wasn't taking it all in.  
"Where is he?" He asked hesitantly. Trija glanced away from him for a moment.  
"He's gone North to write for a while. He does that some times, writes on the latest news. I suspect he should be here soon."  
Alistair felt his eyebrows raise.  
"Oh, then I'll just- leave, didn't mean to-"  
"Alistair!" She interrupted his mumblings. "Wasn't there a reason you came here? You didn't just pop in for a visit, did you? Is it trouble?"

He didn't have time to answer her. He was sick of thinking on Orlais. An approaching, booming laugh echoed through the walls in the house. Trija checked her hands. _Still shaking. Oh, Maker. _She swept her hand across her face and fixed a smile to her face as the door crashed open once more. The booming laughter was now inside, but accompanied by a little giggle.

"Farridan!" Trija cried in shock. Something twinged painfully and heavily in Alistair's stomach before he even knew what was going on. The man stood before them grinning was quite younger than himself, with an air of freedom about him. He seemed tired, yet elated to be home. His brown eyes, matching the deep colour of his hair, danced with laughter and mirth. Trija's daughter Salvia clung to his back in some desperate form of piggyback. The young girl still giggled fiercely.

"Ok," She gasped, out-of-breath. "I want down now, I don't like it up here!" She giggled even more as the young man helped her slide off of his back. He didn't seem to spot Alistair as he strode towards his wife, planting an annoyingly long and generous kiss on her lips. Alistair took to examining a nearby table.

Salvia had been keeping an eye on him ever since he had got there. A strange man, in her house. Her mother didn't tend to have many visitors. She remembered when she was younger, and her auntie Leliana had stayed with them for a few weeks. She thought her aunt was amazing; a gorgeous, fiery-headed woman, and too clever for Salvia to know. She shrugged, charging back outside to find Jace.

"Farridan," Trija spoke. _They must be finished_, Alistair thought bitterly. "This is Alistair Theirin." The young man's eyes widened, and he swept into a curt bow. Alistair tried to control his inevitable blush. He hated when people bowed.

"Your Majesty--? I didn't know we would be- wow." Farridan gasped, sounding utterly shocked. Trija just chuckled.  
"No, no need to be so formal. Alistair and I were friends a few years ago. He's come to discuss politics." Farridan pretended to roll his eyes. Trija dug an unsuspecting elbow into his ribs, grinning to herself.

* * *  
They were now sat around the table Alistair had been so intent on examining before. Salvia was perched on Trija's knee, wriggling every so often as her mother tried to untangle her brown hair. Farridan was seated just a few feet from himself, but Alistair was sure to keep himself from being too close him. The man named Farridan had been telling him more on how they had met, but Alistair hadn't really been paying attention to his words. He had focused his attention on Trija. He didn't still _love_ her, did he? He couldn't. Not anymore.

A companionable silence fell as the man finished talking. Salvia still had Alistair under close scrutiny as she leaned forward to him, as much as she could in her mother's lap.  
"My mum's an elf, you know." The little girl told him. Farridan burst into booming laughter at this again, Trija smiling to herself. Alistair chuckled.  
"Oh, I know."

"Sal, come on; it's late!" A familiar voice called. He could not place it. Before Alistair could remember who it may be, the person who the voice belonged to was shaking his hand enthusiastically.  
"Well, the King of Ferelden in a place like this! Cousin, you didn't tell me that we were-"  
"No, Soris, I didn't. Because I didn't know." Trija had stood up. Salvia had moved to stand next to Alistair, with wide eyes.

"King?" She murmured. He nodded. "Oh."

* * *  
Trija didn't know what to feel right now, as cliché as that sounded. Her eyes rested on her uneasy-looking husband. It was all just a big mess. Alistair was never supposed to come back, and he was never supposed to meet Farridan _or_ Salvia. The reappearance of her cousin had shifted the mood slightly. Soris had agreed to put the young girl to bed that night, but looking around; he realised she was already gone.

* * *  
It hadn't taken long for the little girl to grab ahold of Alistair's hand and drag him to the back of the house. Children made him very nervous, he admitted inwardly. This one was no exception.  
"Where are we going?" He called to the girl, who had resumed her gigglings. He had been trailing behind her, but she still did not release his hand.  
"Here!" She chirped back. They were in a rather plain room. It was not as lavishly decorated as the few he had seen, or rather, caught a glimpse of. It would be almost boring if a child's cradle did not sit to one side.  
"This," Salvia announced proudly "is my little cousin. Michael." Alistair peered over the cradle hesitantly. He smiled despite himself, immediately seeing Soris. Alistair heard the noise that came from the front of the house, yet the young girl didn't seem to move.

* * *  
She knew that he hadn't been happy. She could tell as soon as he spotted Alistair, the look in his eyes. Soris had left the room awkwardly after Alistair had, noting the tension between the two. "Who is he?" He whispered heatedly.  
"I told you; a friend. You would know that if you had _tried_ to come home earlier." Trija's husband just rolled his eyes as he tried to walk away from her.  
"Why have you never mentioned this before?" He questioned, running a hand through his hair.  
"Because you never asked!" She snapped. Farridan tried to smile calmly.  
"Look; it doesn't matter." He said. Trija smiled weakly up at the man, thankful for the calm. He placed two hands on her shoulders lightly, rubbing the flesh there gently.

"You know I have to go again soon, don't you?" He whispered.  
Her mouth fell open almost unnoticeably. "You do?" Farridan nodded at her. "I-I thought we had a little time..."  
Trija saw his blank face and sighed. "Look, it doesn't matter. If you have to, then you have to." He barely reacted. She felt her calm mood slowly slipping.

"This makes me crazy, the fact that we could actually_ be _together, for the first time in a long time, and you are going to choose to be somewhere else." Farridan opened his mouth to object, but she wouldn't let him. "You could be here, or there; as usual guess which you pick."  
"But I have to go if I want to-"  
"No, you do _not_ have to leave me alone again." She almost sobbed pathetically. "What will Salvia do without her father again? You could stay with your _wife, _Maker forbid. And I know that it must drive you crazy that you won't get play with your _little_ girlfriends, since you can't even spend time with your own family." She felt her eyes start to tear up angrily, as she turned her back on him. "Go. As long as you're happy."

She heard him leave her. Shock struck her. They had endured similar arguments before, sometimes ending this way. She placed shaking hands on her cheeks, and swiftly exited the room, allowing the angry tears to run down her face quickly and quietly.


	4. Whispering

_"History-- little miss didn't do right._

_Went and ruined all the true plans._

_Such a shame, such a sin."  
- Wendla, Spring Awakening_

**Chapter Four  
**When she spotted her coming out of her room, Trija had took hold of her daughter's hand on the way out. Wiping angry tears off her face, she silently refused to let anymore fall anywhere near the house.

They had walked to where they were now, by a little stream. She wasn't as angry at Farridan as she had been, so the tears had relented. Salvia was happily paddling in a shallow part of the stream, handfuls of her hem in her hands and occasionally clinging onto half-submerged mossy rocks. The young elf felt like such an idiot for the ways she seemed to always act on impulse. She heaved a heavy sigh, and announced to her daughter that it was time to go find her father.

Trija knew where Farridan would go, probably the place where they had met; the tavern by their house. But she couldn't possibly take Salvia there now, not at her age. She growled playfully and looked down to her daughter.

"Race you back home?" She chuckled. The girl just grinned, released her hand and galloped off in the direction of their house.

* * * *

It was just turning a purple dusk when Alistair had decided to go back to Denerim. He had been a fool to come. To be quite honest, he didn't think Orlais was even a threat. Anora was just being a paranoid crazy woman. Her usual self. He had decided he would get his horse and go, and try and make up some elaborate excuse as to why he was unaccompanied. He was halfway out of the small house when Trija and her daughter almost ran straight into him. They both halted right in front of him, Trija considerably more out of breath than Salvia.

"Where are you...going?" She panted. Alistair clenched his jaw.  
"Back to Denerim. Sorry to bother you." He made to walk in the direction of his horse but Trija stopped him by putting out a hand.  
"Wait, I'm just about to put Sal to bed; just wait," The little girl groaned at this while her mother grabbed her hand.

Alistair had settled himself in the room at the front of the house while Trija helped the girl get ready for bed. He had sat awkwardly at the table situated in the room, and waited for her to return. When she eventually did after a good period of time, she looked completely flustered. Trija smiled apologetically at him and sat down at the table across from him.  
"What made you decide to leave?" She asked him, her expression completely unreadable and blank. Alistair looked at the table.  
"Er...I just didn't think things are...right." Handled with his usual deft brilliance. Trija frowned.  
"I don't actually believe that things with Orlais could be so bad." She stated, lingering for a moment. "Did Anora take such rumors personally?" Alistair grimaced and she chuckled.  
"Perhaps...but they weren't rumors, they were much more solid." Trija nodded slowly.  
"Alright...I _will _come back to Denerim with you on one condition." She rested both her forearms on the table and leant towards him. "That you let Salvia and Farridan come too."

Alistair shuddered at the thought. "Do you really think that would be safe for both of them?" He asked incredulously.

Trija got out of her chair angrily. "Of course, it's such a stupid idea. I'm so sorry I wasted your time, your Highness." She drawled sarcastically. She didn't face him but instead made to go in the direction of Salvia's room.

"Go back to Denerim, Alistair. Your wife will be wondering where you are." She called over her shoulder.  
"No," he called back. "I'm afraid I'm not going until you say yes." Trija turned, feeling a bit shocked inside that he had learned to say no. She took a few steps to try and close the gap between them as Alistair looked directly at her. In an odd way, it reminded her of when they first met.

And just like that, it was gone. Trija felt a little shape thud into the back of her legs: Salvia. She was hysterical, and covered in sweat.

Once Trija had calmed the young girl down, they had sat down at the table once again. Salvia was still in floods of tears while she sat on her mother's lap.  
"What's wrong, love?" Her mother soothed as the little girl gulped dramatically. "Bad dreams, again?" Salvia just nodded and buried her face in her mother's chest. They sat in peaceful silence for a few long moments. "See, Alistair?" She whispered. "How could I possibly leave them alone like this?" She planted a chaste kiss on the girl's forehead and carried her back to her room.

When she returned once again Alistair was standing. She ventured closer to him this time.  
"I'm willing to negotiate." He uttered. "But you have to be able to promise that they won't be in the way, or be in danger." Happiness and triumph lit up the young woman's eyes. "Thank you," was all she whispered, her lips parted softly from the words. She didn't realise how close they had been standing, but Alistair had. He had itching to just close the distance, and for this once he did not shake such thoughts out of his head. But he did not act upon them.

Trija had noticed this after too long. She cleared her throat awkwardly and tried to step backwards as inconspicuously as possible.  
"But you have to go. For now, anyway. Come back to Highever in about a fortnight and I promise you I will be ready. Can I have at least that long?" He nodded in reply, and smiled meekly.

"But you have to go now," she repeated to no one in particular. "Because I'm not going to leave my loved ones behind."

**  
_A/N: Had some major technical difficulties with my laptop, but it's all sorted for now. I'm not exactly sure what I think of this whole fic yet. So tell me what you think? I would love to hear what you all really think, as I'm chock full of ideas for the ways I can go with this. Tell me what you think; like, love, or hate. Completely un-Beta'd! Sorry for the short chapter and thanks for taking time to read. I love you guys. ;)_


	5. Galapagos

_A/N: Hello again! It has been too long, hasn't it? I didn't really think Dragon Age to be too popular in fan fiction anymore. Sorry! And with that, I must say that I am now resuming regular postings of this fic, now that I have a new laptop, and if I can stop thinking of Mass Effect fics. Anyway, yey! I suppose we can celebrate the new DA2 trailer, that had absolutely _no _cliches. *cough*  
_  
**Chapter Five  
**_"Hold me for goodbyes, and whisper lullabies."_  
~ Galapagos, The Smashing Pumpkins.

**Two Weeks Later**  
Alistair felt as conspicuous as a Grey Warden riding in on a griffin whenever he travelled by horseback. He felt like he was announcing his arrival very loudly, and automatically stating his birthright's superiority over whomsoever saw him. He cringed inwardly. The sight always garnered a look of tested annoyance from the men, something he assumed was admiration from the women and a giddy look (at the horse, of course) from the children.

But for now, he would just have to suffer it. He had been lucky to travel back to Highever on his own for a second time, and especially lucky not to be in the reach of Anora's claws. He had to admit, he had warmed to the woman, but it was still strange to consider her his wife, even though they had been wed for quite a few years now. As had Trija and her husband.

He spotted the little girl before she made any noise. Trija's young daughter; identical to her mother in almost every way. He could pick her out just by the eyes, they both had the same look in their eyes that promised so much more than you ever expected you could deserve. The girl didn't notice him, though; she was immersed in deep conversation with a girl of her own age, about what, he couldn't tell.

Alistair tried to trot past unnoticed and quietly, which was near impossible for someone on horse. He felt utterly ridiculous, and was thrilled when the house came into closer sight. His thighs ached from the long journey as he hauled himself down from the steed, armour clinking with the motion and glaring lazily in the dingy sunlight. The voice had shouted his name before he could continue.

"Alistair!" Came the childish voice, louder still. He turned and saw the young Salvia running full pelt with a look of wild, untamed joy on her face. Alistair considered escape for a split second, but warmed as the girl grew closer, repeating his name as she wrapped arms around his vulnerable legs. She was giggling manically.  
"I _knew_ you would come back," she laughed. "I knew it!" It was damn near impossible not to laugh at the girl.

"Oh?" He grunted brightly, chuckling whilst trying to pry her hands from him.

_Alistair tried in vain to prise the elf's hands from his waist. They had hardly just met but a few months ago, and here she was, bold as brass and laughing with that...glint in her eye. He found himself laughing in spite of it all. Escape was proving impossible. He knew having that dwarf in their camp was a bad idea; all he did was drink, and make lewd jokes. Usually in that order._

Success! He had gotten Salvia's hands from him, and held them by his side. He didn't intend it as a gesture of affection, he just didn't want them to attack him again. The girl smiled at him happily as he knelt to be her height. He opened his mouth to speak.  
"My mum?" Salvia offered, her smile loosening slightly. "I...don't know where she is."

_Trija could try to whisper the rather sinful thoughts racing through her hazy mind if she could just reach the damn ear. Maker, why were human men so tall?  
_

Alistair's own smile lessened. He was panicking internally, but stayed calm outside. Something he had learned in his time as king. He furrowed his brow.  
"Well...do you know where she could be? I really need-"  
"I can try and show you. I have a feeling." The girl muttered.

_And as soon as she was there, warm hands just in the right place, right where they were wanted had she darted off into the forest by the camp. Maker's breath! He had half a mind to chase after her, and perhaps show her some of the un-Templar like thoughts he had since they'd lit that fateful beacon._

Following Salvia wasn't hard. She was only young, after all. She had pointed to the clearing in the forest.  
"Go that way," she instructed. "It goes by a river...a bank. It's nice, maybe."

With that, the girl left him to run to her friends. She feared that her father had already spotted her away from their house. It's not that he was _that _mean, it was that he would worry. She didn't like him to worry.

_He had spotted her, there by the river, just sitting. Like a tree nymph fallen from the branches. Chasing her like cat and mouse, they'd dodged each other comically around a boulder, and a smattering of trees, hiding from each other like children. He could have easily caught her and done those things he'd been dreaming about, but the fun was in the chase._

Alistair batted a limp tree branch from his sight. The area had gotten thicker with even more trees the further in he had ventured. He, once again, entertained the thought of firing whoever decided the king must wear armour pretty much _everywhere_. How much further?

_He could see her still, now. Her hair had gotten a little bit longer since they had first met, but for the first time in the short time they had knew each other for, she had it down now; completely free of braid and band._

_Trija loved the forest. It was musky, lonely and magical. She could imagine the fairies from the old Elven stories had dispersed from this place upon seeing her burst in. She chuckled at the thought of them squealing in terror in the middle of their dance at the sight of her. Roar, _she thought_._

Alistair had spotted her the moment she had appeared; she lay upon the floor, curled almost in a ball. Panic twisted at him. He had no thought for himself as he sped to her side, hands forgetting themselves, the right falling on her leaf-twined hair, the left feeling her face for warmth.  
"Trija?" He muttered to her, panic obvious even to his own ears as he repeated the name. "Can you hear me?"

_There was an old lady in the Alienage who had told her a story of a malevolent spirit posing in the form of a young, incredibly handsome man who had a fondness for seducing proper young Elven maidens, and was a prisoner of the fairy queen for seven years unless he could find his true love. She couldn't remember what would happen at the end of those years. Something dramatic, she thought._

_Right on cue, Alistair appeared, not quite so charming with his limbs almost dragging behind him and breathing heavily like the Mabari pup she so fondly kept back at camp._

_Trija tried to wave coquettishly from the other side of the river she was on, placing a hand on her hip and jutting it out to the side. Alistair's searching eyes had spotted her, and he grinned at her wildly. The young woman flicked her hair over her shoulder, still joking. She laughed at him as he walked, knee-deep in to the river that seperated them.  
"What in all of the Maker's green world are you doing?" She laughed, yelling so he could hear over the rush of the water.  
"I'm coming to see you!" He shouted back, still grinning at nothing in particular._

After what seemed like centuries, Trija's eyes flickered opened. Her face was rather grimy and her light hair was twisted with the floor of the forest. Rain threatened overhead.

_"Fine, but the dog's drying you off!" She shouted, hand cupped by her face. He was nearer to her now, but her vantage point had altered their height dramatically. She had the higher ground, he could only reach her shoulders, at most. Trija grinned down at the man, he now only just ankle deep in the stream. Her hands rested on the boulder she lay on, supporting her arms._

"Alistair?" She had whispered. Her voice was not as weak as he would have thought. She was strong still. Good. He smiled gently at her.  
"What happened? Are you alright?" He questioned. Trija smiled, or grimaced.  
"I'm fine," she drew up from her position on the floor, Alistair's hands awkwardly flying his sides once more. He hadn't realised he had been stroking her hair so tenderly. _Idiot_, he thought.  
"Just...animals." She grimaced once more as the pain became more obvious.

_She drew herself off the boulder, heart pounding she worried he may hear it and laugh at her. Throwing caution to the wind, she placed an arm on his shoulder in an intimate gesture. Alistair raised an eyebrow at the girl. Realising what he was going to do, the woman let her mouth fall open in premature shock.  
"I...am...barefoot!" She gasped. He shrugged, grasping her arms and bringing her to splash in the water beside him. She gasped again, but from the freezing cold she was now submerged in._

"Animals?" Alistair asked. Trija pressed her hand to her side, still in pain.  
"Yes, I'll tell you about it. I need you to help me _now_." Her words stirred something within him.

_Trija realised her arm was still around the young man's shoulder from what he had done. Without a second's thought she met his lips with her own, kissing him passionately. His arms were hooked around her waist, and her own snaked around his neck, the feel of him warming her from the cold water, and the cold world.  
_  
"Get me to the healer's cottage," she gasped in sharp breaths. "She...can help me." Trija offered her arm to link around his neck so that he could support her. He tried to support her, mostly lifting her. Her body tingled in spite of the pain.  
"It's not far from here," she spouted. "Just...near this edge of the forest. Won't...see Salvia. But, I promise, I'll tell you everything."

_He couldn't quite get over how she felt in his arms. It was so new, so extraodinary. She had the power alone to make him turn into a blithering fool. Usually he could at least string a sentence together, but now, not even that. Even the tiniest syllables melted into nothingness in his mouth.  
_  
_Trija felt amazing in his arms. He _was _amazing. She had only ever imagined feeling like this for Nelaros...but she had forgotten her husband for the sake of her own sanity. It wasn't awkward when they broke apart.  
"Alistair..." She spoke at last.  
"That was too soon, wasn't it? Oh, I'm sorry, I-I just thought that-"  
"Alistair." She was firm this time. "Don't talk."  
"Ok." He let out, rather breathless.  
"Ever." And with that she resumed their kiss._****

* * *

_A/N: I know, I'm sorry! Please, the next chapter; all will be explained._


	6. Quirks and Eccentricities

_A/N: Wow! I love you lot, thank you for the reviews, I'm very grateful. Snogs all round! I'm afraid Chapter Seven won't be out as soon as this one- I'm off on holiday on Saturday (tomorrow) and probably won't have much time to write. This one's extra long to make up for it, the last few parts were supposed to be the next chapter. I'll see you all in September!  
_**  
Chapter Six  
**_"Wiry gypsy boy, take my hand, and you'll not be found come mornin'."  
~ Taglio! - SJ Tucker._

Trija had passed out in his arms a few minutes before. Alistair couldn't even lie to himself, he was terrified. She was freezing cold, despite the day being a misty, mild one. Without her being able to support her own weight, he had gingerly lifted her. It was a terrifying feeling, she was horrifyingly limp in his arms. The expression "dead weight" seemed like nonsense.

The forest was also incomprehensible. It seemed like a trick of the eye, the trees coming and going until the modest cottage appeared by an outer layer of a wild thicket of trees. Alistair hadn't know what to expect. Nothing out of the ordinary, such as a fairytale would have.

He may have been in panic, but he still, rather guiltily, realised where his hands went. Touching her for the first time in so many years felt bizarre...he hadn't forgotten what it was like though. How could someone forget something so intense? That first night in their camp, Alistair had never experienced something so extraordinary. It had been bitterly cold under the stars, but warm and humid inside the tent, somehow. She had been even warmer...

Alistair snapped his thoughts back to the present. The woman that Trija must have mentioned as a healer was outside of her home before he could even made his presence known. She was small, but was able-bodied in her swift strides in his direction. The woman appeared to be quite old, and dressed like she had no interest in any fashion that may exist on the other side of those trees.

The sleeves of her simple black robe fell over her wrists as she lifted Trija away from Alistair and into her own arms. His heart sank, and his arms were now unsure of what to do without her. The look the old woman had given him had been odd, not at all like anyone dared give him in his time king. She looked at him with accusing look of reproach, but didn't look over her shoulder as Alistair followed her inside.

The inside of the cottage was as it was outside; dusty, wooden and dreary. It was the kind of house that would make a hag grin at the choice of décor, and like the ones said hag would inhabit in the old fairytales. Alistair shuddered in spite of himself.

Various pots and chipped bowls decorated the room, some candles gathered in their own set area, mortar and pestles had grouped in their own space.

"Well, boy?" It took Alistair a while to realise she was speaking to him. She raised her eyebrows in annoyance. "Are you going to help me?"  
Alistair stuttered and stumbled over his own limbs to close the gap between them, trying to include an apology of sorts in his fragmented speech.

The woman had laid Trija out on a surface much like a table, but one that seemed to have been adapted for medical purposes. The woman was inspecting her face, moving the clump of hair that had been threatening to cloak her face and checking the features of her face, moving eyelids, checking pupils.  
"What happened to her?" She grunted to Alistair, a hint of concern in the pit of her rough voice. He tilted his face upwards.

"I- she...mentioned animals." He offered meekly. The woman's face seem to ease into a kinder one at this, a polite smile on her lips.  
"Ah," she breathed. "There are, of course, animals everywhere in the forest, as you already know."  
Alistair's brow furrowed. "As I already know?"  
"I'm a good guesser." She grinned up at him. _Alright, then_, he thought. "I can patch her up, but it will be quite painful on her end, as I imagine it's already been. I'll have to give her something for the pain, but I can do that, I'm sure I can."

Alistair felt his panic and guilt lessen, but he was amused at the woman. She seemed intent on getting every thought she had in her head out in one sentence. She was rather eccentric, to say the very least. Letting himself relax slightly, Alistair perched himself on a nearby table.

He watched her, back to him, fumble with the implements she kept, the mortar and pestle, herbs, pots, various bottles with odd labels.  
"Thank you..." He realised he didn't know her name._ Ah_.  
"Kerren!" She shot over her shoulder.  
"Thank you...Kerren." He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice. She turned her upper body more to face him.

"It's not problem," she smiled. "I've done this enough times."  
"Done this enough times in general, or for Trija?" Kerren laughed at that.  
"No, no!" She cackled, pausing afterwards. "Didn't tell you she had a daughter, did she? Young girl, nice enough, a bit annoying, but sweet. Husband, too. Tall, dark, handsome, broody."  
Something twinged in Alistair, and the woman grinned at him once more.  
"Erm, yes, she did tell me."

The woman's mouth fell into a surprised 'o' as she turned to fumble once more with her tools. All that could be heard from her was the grinding of her mortar and pestle. Alistair dug his fingers into the table around him before launching himself gently in the direction of the elf.

"She should come to in a while, hopefully not before I patch her up, though. Would be quite uncomfortable, sting dreadfully, and ache. Bandages on after this." She gestured to her mortar and pestle. All Alistair could do was nod. Kerren inspected a roll of white cloth he recognised as bandages, nodding to herself as she went.

She gave him a pointed look when her nodding had stopped.  
"I think you should go in the other room while I _dress her wounds_, boy."  
A look of confusion lit his face, slowly changing into realisation. "_Oh_." He just knew he was blushing like a fool again as he went through to the dingy and miserable hall.

* * *  
**A few years prior...  
**_She had been brushing the front yard for what felt like a lifetime. Bloody cats where everywhere, and they didn't care what they leapt on. Little gits. _I don't know_, she thought. _Get two cats and you end up with a colony of them_._

_A momentous sneeze left her as the mushroom cloud of dust she had swept too fiercely made contact with her sinuses. Nothing a few herbs and a mortar and pestle couldn't ease, or kicking out a few cats who left fur on every surface. She didn't rightly know if it was the dust affecting her somewhat unreliable memory, but there was a girl stumbling around by the edge of the trees ahead of her, looking lost, not to mention heavily pregnant._

_Kerren set her broom against her old wooden shack and took a few steps towards the girl, hands on robed hips._

_"You, there!" She tried to yell with concern in her voice, trying to add a bit of I-don't-eat-kids emotion into her voice. "Are you alright?"  
The young girl eyed her, and attempted to hobble over. Not easy in her current state. Her eyes were glassed over with what seemed to be tears. She spoke when she was near to Kerren, hands clutching stomach protectively._

_"Have you seen my husband?" She almost mewled, something frantic in her voice. "Or perhaps my cousin?" _Ah, outsiders_, thought Kerren. She hoped that her expression had been convincing, she wasn't really thinking.  
"Hmmm, nope, sorry I don't-"  
"It's just that I think I might be giving birth." The girl uttered, her voice breaking down near the end and letting out a tangled yell. Kerren widened her eyes. _Oh, no_._

_Without thinking on whether it may be a bad idea and acting on instinct, she seized the girl's nearest elbow.  
"Come inside, dear. I can help you." The older woman announced, her voice sincere. It was probably best not to go in to a strange woman's cottage, but she didn't really have a choice now. She let herself be supported by her._

_"My husband...he is in the town," she gasped out. "I can just...get him." Kerren seized the other elbow to stay her.  
"No, no, my dear. Don't hurt yourself. He'll be here."_

_That night had been the most painful Trija had ever experienced. It seemed to go on forever. She thanked whatever divine force there may be for the old woman who had helped her so kindly and plied her with her remedies and salves. _

_They had exchanged names, and Trija had told her quite thoroughly of her background. When the woman named Kerren had left the room about a day and half of tending to her, Trija had left her house, out into the night with her child in her arms. Under the stars, she looked at her new daughter properly for the first time since her birth._

_Her little eyes were carefree, and her tiny hands were wrinkled and warm from the cosy depths of Kerren's home. Unconditional love flooded the mother as she smiled down at her daughter.  
"Hello..." she cooed, sugary enough to make even the soppiest poet cringe. The little baby did an odd gesture with her lips, not quite knowing what they were for. Her little tongue visibly moved across them.  
"Hello, _Salvia,_" She stated defiantly, still somewhat sugary. "That's a healing plant. A very nice old lady named Kerren taught me that."_

_The little girl's tongue moved in an odd form of what Trija pinned as a smile.  
"I like it too." She grinned before making her way back home._

Alistair had been impatiently inspecting dusty bottles in her dingy front room. Each one was labelled with a stiff parchment label and their names neatly curled in black ink. Stagnant-looking pastes glutted in their containers, earthy-looking ones curled themselves inside their glasses whilst others just lay. Many of the ingredients seemed unknown or exotic, Alistair couldn't even recognise some of them.

He picked up a rather dusty looking one with a yellowed label, the ink nearly fading and the glass smoky with dust. The label read "_Salvia_" in curled letters. _Odd_, thought Alistair.

His train of thought was interrupted by a throat being cleared behind him. In his haste, Alistair almost dropped the glass vial back on to its counter. He smiled bashfully at Kerren, who was looking at him with narrowed eyes and good humour in the lines of her face.

"She ok," Kerren smiled. "A bit...bandaged up, but fine." At that, the old woman turned in the direction of the crooked front door. Alistair moved to her to make her stop in her tracks.  
"Wait- will she...is she alright? I mean, nothing too serious?"  
Kerren gave him a look that implied she had patched up worse. "Nothing too serious, boy. Go and see her."  
"But where are you going?" He couldn't help but blurt it out. The woman grabbed the broom leant against the wall and gestured with it.  
"My bloody cats have wandered off again," she winked, and proceeded out the door. Sarcastic thoughts flittered through his mind, but he couldn't rightfully entertain them just yet.

She was still lying down on the same surface. She wasn't wearing her dress anymore. Kerren must have given her the clothes she wore: the simple, woollen trousers with her legs threaded through them and a simple, matching tunic cut above her midriff. Her midriff was heavilly bandaged, and the room was pungent with eye-watering herby scents.

Alistair perched on the surface she laid gingerly, not wanting to touch her incase she was badly injured. He watched her lying still for a moment, chest moving with her breaths and eyes flickering beneath their lids. Hesitantly, he laid a hand on her hair, stroking and uncertain of what may happen.

Kerren had cleaned Trija up, it seemed. Her face was no longer muddy, but the skin there was soft, he learned, fingers trailing there and across her cheeks. When they had first met, one of the first things he had noticed was a slight scar that had ran from the bridge of her nose to just under her left eye. It had been almost unnoticeable, but he had spotted it, even kissed it gently on the first night they'd had together, feeling her shiver in his arms.

Trija's eyes fluttered open almost unexpectedly. He didn't draw his hand away in fear this time, even as she smiled up at him with tired eyes.  
"Hello." One meek word from her lips.  
"Hey," He replied, almost as meek and hands still on her hair. "Do you feel better?"  
"I do now." She grinned weakly. A thread of shock pulled inside him when she lifted a weak hand from her side to cup his cheek.

He moved from Trija's hand ever so slightly, thinking of the cons of the situation before moving back to her in just as quick a motion. Her eyes had changed, she looked sad.  
"I've missed you." She stated simply, her voice thick with emotion.  
"And I, you."

She_ had _been crying. He was so close to her now he could probably count the little droplets that clung to the end of her eyelashes. So close he could smell everything about her: some of the ground that still clung to her, her scent...her fear. So close he could just lean in...  
"Stay with me," he spoke. "Just for the next ten minutes." Her forehead was pressed to his, his neck craned to do so. She smiled with her entire being.  
"And what about after that?"  
"I can ask you again...for another ten." He offered, letting the corners of his mouth lift.

Instead of replying, she simply closed the gap between their lips, kissing him firmly. Oh, how he had missed her. Something inside him broke free of its restraints, and demanded more. Trija reacted the same way, too, sitting up and moving closer to him as the kiss grew. Alistair could feel her eyelashes tickle his skin, and now moved to wrap his arms around her, afraid she may leave him again if he didn't.

She gave a moan as her back met the surface, Alistair taking turn to deepen their kiss even further. Trija hadn't felt so...safe in years. Their skin meeting was electrifying as the first time it ever had. She could stay very much like this for the rest of the night, and could plan on it. _Oh, no_, she thought. _Not here, not now. Not Kerren's house._

With that she broke out of his embrace with much difficulty.  
"Alistair.." She studied him, now out of his arms and drawing to her feet. "I'm sorry, I-I just can't. Not here."  
She turned from him once again, leaving him sitting alone staring in shock at what he had done, and how she had left him again. What did that mean? He wasn't going to let things slide anymore. Alistair had at least gotten some sort of backbone in the last few years.

Not realising nor caring that her bare feet met wet forest floor, Trija moved her feet fast back to her village.

* * *

_A/N: Oooh, so what did you all think? Things are really starting to kick off, aren't they? I'm betting that the next chapter will be rather a lot more steamy, not sure if the rating will go up. I'm kind of annoyed that I won't be able to write it for a while, gah! Reviews are much welcomed, this one kind of got out of hand. Please do tell me what you think of it so far, or perhaps what you want to happen? Ahh. And it is just me, or did Kerren slowly turn into Mordin of _Mass Effect 2_? I hope this chapter was clear enough, it seems like a mess! Haha, anyway, see you all after my holiday. :)_

_Oh, and mistakes are unchecked, so don't laugh at me!_


	7. A Lying Madam

_A/N: And I am back from holiday! I was back at the start of September, but the keys on this netbook were broken up until just before my last fic, but after a few months of using the on-screen keyboard, it's finally been fixed. I think this is the start of what we've been waiting for, so reviewers are much loved and will be covered in melted chocolate and rolled down a very grassy hill. What, that's not how you guys spend your free time? Weirdos._

**Chapter Seven  
**_"__Now I could paint your portrait if I never saw you again.  
When I am old someone may ask me if I ever loved,  
and I will speak but they won't recognize my words, they'll say I'm telling lies.  
And maybe I am  
Maybe I am.__"  
~ Emilie Autumn, Ever._

Alistair's boots were heavy against the soggy forest floor as he thudded his way through. The hesitant rain was tentatively being sprinkled onto the highest leaves of the trees, occasionally assaulting bare skin and goose-pimpled flesh.

The dingy sunlight was giving way to the rain and that particular something that clung to the air.

It was possible to hear the yells of the children in the distance as they ran back inside to the sheltered comfort of their homes, but also the shrieks of glee from the occasional wild child that would not be persuaded back inside until completely drenched, their mothers scolding and fathers stifling a laugh.

Alistair didn't pay much attention to the rain; even when he had passed out of the forest and it pounded him, a drop sliding down his nose from his hairline.

As he approached his horse, Alistair noticed that the housing area was pretty much completely deserted; the rain had started to come down unexpectedly, making those outside flee for warm haven.

Except, it seemed, for Salvia. The young girl was still outside, just ahead of him and standing next to his horse.

The mist and the distance made it near impossible to call to her. She was there as if her friends hadn't left, and as if the rain wasn't merciless.

"Salvia!" He called the girl when near enough. She turned her face to him, wet tresses swinging around her face and cold drops running down her cheeks. Salvia smiled at him despite her trembling bottom lip.

"Alistair!" She called back, trying to imitate the same amount of concern he had possessed in his own voice, almost pulling it off. Alistair didn't think such a young girl could be in tune with such emotion, especially now that he noticed she was crying.

He hoisted the girl up to carry her inside, her legs swinging as she went and making her giggle in spite of her tears. Talking outside would be pointless due to the loud weather.

He decided on taking Salvia to the back of the house, praying that he could remember which room was hers; Maker forbid the last thing he needed was to walk in on someone else's private space. The house was seemingly deserted as they passed to the back.

Salvia had found comfort in Alistair's shoulder, praying that the tears on her face would not deceive her and leave their mark there. She didn't really know what she had been crying about, she just _was_. Salvia felt like that sometimes.

But her mother was in her room, perched on the big arm chair that sat nonchalantly in front of the door. Trija looked up from the corner she had been staring at to give them both a watery smile; from the rain outside, or tears it wasn't really possible to tell. Alistair guiltily placed the young girl down.

A silence stuck in the air, making Alistair force his eyes to rest in the corner of the room.

He knelt down to match Salvia's height once more, smiling gently.

"Something wrong?" He asked, carefully choosing his words. Salvia pointed her chin as if she was full of rightful indignation. She didn't meet anyone's eyes as she spoke, making her seem like she was telling the ceiling her problems.

"Nothing," She stated. She saw her mother lean forwards to listen as she swivelled her eyes across the ceiling, huffing out a breath. "Jace called me 'Saliva' again."

Trija bit her lower lip to stop her from laughing. Salvia seemed to notice this.  
"It's not funny!" She exclaimed, trying to sound martryed and giggling slightly at the same time. Trija did not supress her laugh, letting it flow freely. The rain left abstract patterns on the window.

It may have been a long time that they all laughed together. Alistair had long since entered the house and had now plonked himself onto Salvia's bed. Trija sat in her chair still, but with Salvia perched on her knee.

They shared stories, jokes, anecdotes and various tales that would mundane if told by someone else. It was a cathartic experience for all of them, perhaps in different ways. After the long time they had spent that way, the rain had decided to gently clear up and allow the sun to shine for the last part of the afternoon.

They finished listening to an amusing story Trija told them about her childhood and all three looked up to peer out the window. Salvia dropped off her mother's knee to go and peer out. Trija drew herself up to her full height, stretching rigidly and rolling her neck.

"Come on, let's go down to the beach." She grinned as if the sun was blazing for the first time in months.

**  
The "beach" in question was nothing really more than a long stretch of sand, a few large boulders and a body of water. It wasn't something that could keep an adult occupied for very long, but Salvia loved it.

As soon as she arrived she departed from them, her little feet sinking into the sand with ever footstep she threw at it.

Alistair and Trija straggled behind her, watching as she darted away from the waves that were threatening to grab her ankles. They stopped for a moment by one of the few boulders scattered along the beach, their conversation from inside the house and the journey there still ongoing. Trija perched on the apex of the cold boulder, listening to what Alistair was saying intently.

"-and I remember when I would look over from being by the fire and seeing Zevran fluttering his lashes at you. Now I don't think that made me very happy at the time." He chuckled.  
"What about Oghren? Especially when he was drunk, oh Maker!" She squared her shoulders to imitate the dwarf and made her voice gruff. "'Hey, you! Where can I get some sauce for that rump roast?'

They both laughed at the memories that they had thought long-forgotten or merely supressed, not knowing in great detail what had happened to most of their former companions. Trija heard Alistair sigh deeply beside her.

"I haven't seen or heard of any of them since the Blight." He admitted shamefully. She mulled this over for a bit.

"Well, that's to have been expected-"  
"No, but I wanted to, see." He interupted her. "Being king...I've missed the normal things like having friends and- I just miss them all. I wish I could meet them again, somehow."  
"I have." Alistair turned to face her properly and raised an eyebrow. "I mean, Leliana visited after Salvia was born and does every few years."

"Things haven't really been too easy since Wynne..." he trailed off, but Trija understood his point.  
"I know," She soothed, quickly trying to lighten the subject. "I bet she never could have foreseen me living like this; with a family and a daughter."  
Alistair tried to sound like it didn't bother him. "To be honest, I don't think I could have either." Judging by her expression it had not come out right.

He had now turned his full body to face her, at a loss for words. After a few moments, Trija slid off the rock, crossing her arms across her chest to shield against the winds.  
"I don't think I ever could have, too." She said in lowered tones as Alistair reached her side.  
"Well, maybe you shouldn't have made me king-"

"What else could I do?" She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, her voice flaring up with anger. "Anora could not rule alone, you were both great for different reasons. I could not risk not picking the right ruler. It would have been an awful idea, for Ferelden and for us all!"  
"For us all? So, running away to get married to a stranger and having his kid was _not _an "awful" idea?"

"What else could I have done?" She groaned in a cross manner.  
"You could have stayed with me!" Alistair growled, Trija groaning at this.  
"Oh, yes, definitely." She rolled her eyes. "To do what exactly? What kind of life would I have had? More importantly, what kind of life would Salvia have had?" Her mouth tightened at this, lips closing in on themselves in regret.

"Salvia?" Alistair could feel his cheeks redden and burn. "I don't think she would really have..."  
"No, nevermind. We should go." Trija hastily went to retrieve her daughter, but Alistair caught her arm.  
"_No_, tell me." She turned to face him, biting her lip and eyeing him as if he may be a dangerous object.

"You can't tell me that you don't know..." She trailed. Alistair didn't dare speak, but instead listening intently for these words.  
"Oh, Maker." She breathed. "Maker, Alistair. Have you not figured out that Salvia is _your _daughter?"


	8. Blue Blood

_A/N: I decided to write and post this now, as tomorrow (the 8th) is my birthday and I'll be quite busy! More flashback-y goodness! Short chapter, but I think the next will be the one I've been really wanting to write for a long time, and rather long at that. Rating change, maybe? Nothing too bad, though._**  
Chapter Eight  
**_"We have come so far, we have shed our skin."  
~Idina Menzel._

Alistair's hand dropped from Trija's arm as if it had been burnt.

"What?" He managed to say, his breath completely torn as it left him. It was very much possible to tell from Trija's expression that she was fully regretting her current situation.  
"Oh, Maker." She breathed, barely audible. The young elf started to wring her hands together and stared in the direction of her daughter.

"I-I shall tell you everything. Away from Salvia." Trija started towards the girl and Alistair's eyes fell on the girl in question. _If it is true_, he contemplated. _Then,_ _Maker's breath, how could I not have known?_

Trija gathered Salvia in her arms, her little legs swinging through the air as her mother picked her up, a gleeful sound coming out of her mouth.

Alistair could not do more than follow Trija in complete awe. _How could I not have known?_

_Trija's skin goosepimpled under the cold air that seemed to follow the camp wherever it happened to lay down its roots. She liked this camp the most out of them all: on the very edge, there was a lake that had frozen over due to the winter's merciless frost. She stood at the very edge of it now, contemplating whether or not the frozen water could take her weight._

Trija led Alistair and her daughter inside the house, firmly closing the wooden door behind them. If his ears could be trusted, Alistair could have noted that Trija told her daughter to go into her room in a gentle, unthreatening manner.

_Cautiously testing it with her foot, the elf realised that she wouldn't know whether or not it would hold her weight without trying. Allowing her whole right foot to place itself on the ice, Trija let out a little sound of surprise as the ice did not crack. Another foot didn't push it, and it still didn't when she brought herself up to her full height, arms flailing ridiculously to keep her balance. Still, the ice didn't crack._

Turning to face him with an unplaceable look on her face was terrifying to Alistair. He couldn't place her emotions, and that scared him. He had a whole tangled mess of instincts running through his head: some told him the "right" thing to do, some, the "wrong", others a blurred line between both and one even said "run".  
_  
Trija didn't realise that Alistair had been watching her fool around on the ice. He had a somber look on his face, like she had decided to do a zany jig at a funeral. She responded by grinning at him and trying to hold her hand out to persuade him onto the ice. His expression didn't change, yet he stopped himself from taking her hand._

She opened her mouth to talk.  
"Alistair, it's just that-" Trija began. Alistair moved closer to her.  
"No, _please_. No more games."

_"Come on then, grumpy arse." She managed to get out, despite being a bit out of breath, also managing to extend her hand. He did take her hand this time, but pulled her off the ice. She gave him an odd look.  
"What?" She half-laughed.  
"I need to talk to you," he said. Trija's face fell. "About what's to come. I don't think we can be together, if I'm to become king."_

Much to Alistair's surprise, she started crying. He hadn't even seen her cry when they had been together, despite that being a short few months.

_"Why not?" Trija asked, as if the very idea was ridiculous. Alistair tried to block her out, walking slowly back to the camp.  
"Why not?" She repeated louder, following him. "Are you worried what people might say? I know what they'd say. What they would _call _me-"  
"No! It's just...I don't want to make any empty promises."  
"Then don't!" Trija said, her voice rising in volume. He stopped to face her.  
"Do you really think it's that easy?" He whispered. Trija merely nodded.  
"Then what should I do?" It sounded like Alistair was pleading this time. Trija approached him and wrapped her arms around his waist.  
"Stay."_

"I'm sorry, Alistair." Her tears didn't seem to affect her speech, oddly; it was as if she didn't even notice them. "I'm really, really sorry."  
A short silence fell while she gathered herself. She spoke as if she had practiced the words mentally.

"Just when we got through the Blight was when I noticed. I-I didn't rightfully know what to do. I couldn't stay around, and I certainly couldn't tell you...Anora would murder me. I was supposed to go to Par Vollen with Sten, and I wanted you to think I had. It would have been easier if you still thought I was there."  
"Soris offered to bring me here...and here I came. I married Farridan because he could look after me, and more importantly the...baby. Well, and he, in a way, reminded me of you." The last part was said as if it was greatly embarrassing to admit.

Alistair was still completely dumbfounded and turned his gaze to examine the floor as her story went on. This made Trija's worry deepen.  
"I'm really, really sorry. I understand that you want to leave me, and I don't blame you one bit. I would want to do the same. I'm just sorry that you found out."

Alistair snapped his gaze up to look at her again.

"What?" His lips slightly parted.  
"I didn't plan on...seeing you again. That's why I ran away. I wanted to come back to Denerim after Par Vollen, but I didn't go once I found out. I went to Highever instead, and I couldn't return with your child in my arms."  
Alistair still looked slightly confused. "My child..."  
"I wouldn't lie, Alistair. I'm telling the truth."  
He nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I just never should have-"  
"I don't care." He stated.  
"Excuse me?" She looked surprised, as if he was dumping her all over again.  
"What I mean to say is: I don't mind. I believe you." Trija's eyes widened at this, and he would laugh if he wasn't already so weighed down by his other emotions. He closed the gap between them and stood in front of her, staring down into her glassy eyes.

"I don't think I've ever really adapted to being king, and I don't think you could possibly have adapted to life out here."  
She nodded, listening to him continue. Her tears stopped as she spoke.  
"But what do you want me to do, Alistair? I can't _do_ anything! I'm just...me. Not a big hero anymore that can save the world and turn back time with one wave of a sword."

He smiled gently down at her as history repeated itself. "You can stay."  
"What?" Trija involuntarily took a step back in her shock, eyebrows lifting slightly.

He hesitated before doing so, but lifted his right hand to sweep back a strand of her silvery hair to tuck behind her ear, such as had been their trademark to do so. Realising what he meant, Trija's eyes changed in some unrecognisable way.

"Stay." He repeated, whispering into her ear. "I don't quite think I've stopped loving you."

They kissed for the second time that day, like no time had passed in the many years apart, like two teenagers who desperately did not want to wake the adults after sneaking in one night. Like they had not become accustomed to making themselves kiss those they had so not wanted to. Like their first kiss they had ever shared after he had given her Lothering's remaining rose. Gentle, but implying something greater than the unmarked territory they started to wander into, not knowing if it was terribly dangerous or utterly safe.

It felt safe, though. For now, at least.


	9. A Restless Mind

**Chapter Nine  
**_"I've made a thing I love; I ask no more  
And never shall redeem the heart I lent._

Me in my world and thyself in thine,  
Two petals on the same and silent flower.  
And evermore I'll welcome thee in mine,  
Your dear creation was my finest hour.  
Emilie Autumn, Alas (The Knight)

"Alistair."  
That one word could not break through his blurry psyche. He was probably dreaming again. He could have sworn Trija had told him Salvia was _his_ daughter. That little girl that had lit up his life so brightly in a way impossible to pinpoint and without even trying to.

He didn't quite know how he had reacted or was reacting, or whether it was a true representation of how he felt. He wanted to say that he was amazed, or that he was thrilled, or that he wanted to run away from Anora and everything, as foolish as that would be. But then again, that was what Morrigan always called him, wasn't it? _Fool_. Spat out like it should be punishable by death.

He had tried not to think about most of his old companions in a while, most of all Morrigan. He couldn't quite place why he was thinking about them all now as if they were just outside their tent. _Tent_. _What tent? _He thought, snapping back into himself and realising the when and where.

"Alistair." It was breathy when uttered this time. He had broken their kiss to gently kiss the crook of her neck and shoulder, smiling as he felt her shiver at his touch. Once she had gathered herself, she proceeded to grab his hand.  
"You may want to...move." She gasped, recovering herself further and moving deeper into the house.

Alistair allowed himself an "ah" to escape his lips as she led him away, relishing her small hand in his larger one.

The atmosphere changed when the door closed. It was more mature in a sense that they knew what was going to happened, and that they both wanted it. Trija seemed it fit to press the man against the door and kiss him rather fiercely.

Alistair reached behind them to unpin her hair, allowing it to cascade down her shoulders, the distracting noises she made unleashing all sorts of emotions. A thought of amazement flitted through his mind; he was newly amazed at how correctly they still fitted together.

He ran his hands down her sides and down her hips. He mentally braced himself and prayed that he might survive this without ruining more than Trija's life. It was now or never.

As soon as he blinked, he could feel her familiar territory, clothes being pushed aside and discarded. He heard and felt Trija say an "I love you" against his lips as they stumbled throughout their dusty minds and their fumbled their way into each other's arms.

**  
The winds were relentess in the nighttime. It was so cold, and the wind just did not care for the stress of it all. It swept in and out of the already swaying trees, screaming at stone buildings and the firm old oaks that could not be swayed. As an extra bit of leverage, the wind would occasionally include icy spatterings of rain that miserabley tried to assault exposed skin with as much ferocity as a full pelt.

When her eyes flicked open, the young elf could hear the rain against the walls of her house as it fell. At first she panicked; she no idea she was, the area cloaked in darkness and silence. Lighting a candle whilst remembering where she was and what had transpired, Trija let the smile tugging at her lips unfold.

Sitting up, she brought her arms in and folded them across her chest, disturbing the blankets. Out the window she could see that the moon was waxing, the shadowed part not fully able to blend in. She stared at it and wondered how many other people were doing the same thing.

It was probably very early in that winter's morning, yet much too early for even the toughest labourers to be up and tending the fields or animals or people. No signs of life could be heard from the other houses, despite their distance and difference in size. She contemplated on paying a visit to Kerren, but decided that now was not at all appropriate.

She contemplated checking up on Salvia, but realised that her daughter would be deep in sleep. Not her daughter anymore, but _their _daughter, even they couldn't all be together. As for Farridan...well, he would return soon. He would have to listen; not understand, but listen.

Stirring from next to her made her turn her neck to see the warm body beside her. After getting his bearings, Alistair met the eyes that watched him, with a far-off look in his sleepy eyes that Trija had seen before. This made her smile.  
"I think there may be a search party for you soon," she stated. Alistair furrowed his brow as he sat up, the candlelight distorting its surroundings.

"I would hope not." He sighed, looking around the room, his gaze finally resting on the woman next to him. His brow furrowed for the second time when he spotted something about her. Trija seemed puzzled.  
"What?" She half-laughed, smiling as she did.  
"That scar..." he trailed. "On your shoulder, I've never seen it before." Trija noticed where he was looking and bit her lip. She found herself taking a quick intake of breath when Alistair silently lowered his lips onto the scar in question. Her back stiffened and arched as she remembered to breathe. Little goose-pimples of pleasure surfaced on her skin.  
"Alistair, you will be the death of me." She groaned when he quickly brought his lips away. He trailed his fingers dow her side from where they had gently rested next to her scar.

"But I still haven't been completely truthful with you," she pieced together, pausing so long to allow the words to surface that Alistair's hand lamely dropped away.  
"Salvia is...ill. Not ill in a physical, sense, but she is...is often plagued. Most nights she is haunted by horrible dreams; about death and slaughter and butchery. They come every night, even some days."  
"She wouldn't want you to know this, but you must...as her father." She grinned at him as she slotted the end words, and he reacted in a wild imitation of her own grin. Trija remained silent for a few moments more, eyes wandering the room once more.

"I know somewhere that it is a result of her tainted blood." She said, almost to the room. Alistair was obviously shocked by this, and Trija felt suddenly and inexplicably ashamed.

"It was because of that why I would have thought myself barren but," she sighed wistfully "obviously not." She began to worry when he did not reply. She turned to see him looking rather dumbfounded. Trija suddenly had the urge to shake him.

"Alistair."  
He heard his name like his ears were filled with water. "I'm...sorry."  
She tilted her head to the side in a silent question, blinking at him.  
"There's no need to apologise for being lost in thought." Trija chuckled. Alistair shook his head at that.

"I mean I'm sorry for how this ended. I left you because I didn't want to put you through the pain of these things being a King's consort would bring, and it seems by trying to avoid them I produced them twice over."

The elf furrowed her brow, eyes looking to ceiling. "Alistair, there is nothing here to apologise for. We knew the risks and ignored them. Nothing we can do or say will change that."

Alistair slowly nodded as agreement came to him. A smile overcame his face. "Then let me just say that you and Salvia may just be the two best things to ever have happened to me."  
Trija grinned back at him, and he noticed that she gently clasped his arms. She chuckled once more, before allowing comfortable silence to return.

"What happens now?" Came her voice from under the silence. He remembered asking her the same question years ago, the response setting his nerve endings on fire. He thought of how to reply for a moment, but remained silent as he attempted to sum up the words of all the many different scenarios that played through his mind. All would be deemed equally foolish and justifiable.

"I...don't know." This was all he could say. They were not as young as they had been, so they could not make promises they knew had passed them, or perhaps that would never pass. The rain grew a little heavier now, threatening to blow into their shelter and warmth.

Trija pondered this for a moment. "I think I know."  
She held his gaze for a moment before he sat up. Alistair desperately hoped for every impossible thought to come true. With that, she sloped off the bed and to the other side of the room silently, his eyes still watching her.

She dressed herself anew, taking great care not to meet Alistair's eyes. She methodically placed her feet, one in front of the other, to peer out of the doorway. Upon doing so, she noticed her own daughter at the end of the corridor, carefully stepping out of her own room. Despite a pang of guilt, Trija smiled at the girl, quickly closing her own door behind her.

"Good morning, love," the little girl looked up at her, her eyes full of sleep. Trija ran her hands through the girls hair, inspecting a night's sleep worth of damage. "How did you sleep? You don't need some of that special valerian tea, do you?"

Salvia's eyes widened in a parody of horror, screwing her face up in disgust as she did. "No. I didn't wake up, I just had one nightmare the whole night. About gnomes."  
Trija made a disapproving noise, at which the little girl panicked. "But it smells of socks..."

The unmistakable sound of the front door opening startled Trija. She panicked, and she and Salvia eyed each other for a few moments. Farridan. She rushed to meet the man, unknowingly bringing Salvia by the hand. He didn't seem to notice them while he emptied his satchel onto the table nearest him.

"Er, morning...Farridan." Trija mustered awkwardly. She had never been a good liar. Her husband grinned at her, holding up the book he had been thumbing indecisively.

"My book," he said "on the Heroine of Fereldan, no less, has just been bought."  
Farridan raised his eyebrows, he rest of his face following in joyous pursuit. Trija let out a breath of laughter, one hand flying to her face.

"What?" She laughed in disbelief. "Who on earth would find _me_ interesting?"  
Farridan closed the gap between them to grasp her in a tight hug.  
"Oh, do try not to be so modest, sweetheart." He chuckled. "You did save Ferelden, after all."  
He released her from the bone-crushing hug after that.

Trija watched as the man swung Salvia around him and into another embrace, speaking words she could not quite fathom or discern. That pang of guilt returned as she slowly backed away to find Alistair. Yet, upon walking the halls of her home, he was nowhere to be found.


	10. A Way Around

_A/N: Hi everyone! Guess who's back? More time to write as exams are nearly over and Nikita's not on for a month, which I've been obsessed (alongside _Tangled, _which was just adorable) with. This will be a smushy chapter, indeed._

Just a lil' note, a reviewer mentioned Sal's name. I was kind of waiting for someone to mention, but it's explained in the chapter with Kerren. I did laugh to myself putting it in, and I was kind of disappointed when no one noticed! But someone did, so it's ok now. Haha. I kind of wanted a good effect with naming a character after an herb with "healing" properties (ya know). Sorry! The gung-ho History student part of me effects everything! They used to believe salvia was a healing drug in the period Dragon Age is based around, so interpret that as you will. Thanks for reading a too-long and perhaps even educational note!  
**  
Chapter Ten  
**_"Don't be sad about your chosen path,  
and where it's taken you thus far.  
'Cos this is what you did,  
and _that_ is who you are.  
And it's alright."  
~Cue Music, Passing Strange_

Trija could feel her lungs ache from lack of air in Farridan's tight hug. He was talking about their book.  
"...walked right up to me and offered me gold, on the spot; said he'd read some of my previous work and was a big fan. I told him about you and the book, and he was thrilled to go ahead with it."

Trija looked up at the towering man, both gasping for air and grinning. His expression mirrored her own, falling at the corners slightly when he realised her own had.  
"What? Is something wrong?"  
He had noticed her worrying as she broke away from him and turned in Salvia's direction. The little girl held her mother's gaze, unsure of how to respond. The woman seemed to be mulling something over in her mind, turning back to her husband with a voice in hushed tones. Salvia had already gotten out of the front door to find her friends when her mother spoke.

"I need to talk with you...about Salvia." Trija's voice and sombre and, quite frankly, boring to the young girl.

**  
She spotted the man when she exited the house into the balmy morning air; he had the beginnings of stubbly spikes around his chin, making her wonder on the things she didn't quite know yet. He looked sad as he sat alone, like a child who had planned a beach trip to find it was raining when he awoke. She heaved herself onto the soggy, slightly moss-covered and cracked wooden bench beside him. Alistair spotted her after a few seconds, trying to peer down at her from the corner of his eye.

He hesistated. "How old are you?"  
Salvia furrowed her brow in an exaggerated manner. "Almost six," she grinned up at him proudly and toothily. He let out a long sigh, pressure being taken off him.  
"So...five?" He smiled. Salvia furrowed her brow again.  
"Well, nearly six."  
"And nearly six is five, then!" He chuckled at the girl, who seemed rather distraught.

"Yes," she obliged. He felt a light drop of liquid on his forehead. Alistair looked up at the overcast sky, not yet feeling anymore rain drops. He tested the air for a moment, feeling the young girl's eyes on him. After a few moments, he feel something land in his lap, involuntarily letting out a slight "oof." Salvia had decided to land herself in his lap, still staring quite intently up at him.

"I know what's going on," she stated a bit more defiantly that Alistair thought could come from such a young creature. He did, however, find himself rather too stunned to reply.  
"My Mum used to sing to me. _When you come home to me, I'll wear a sweeter smile, and hope that for a while you'll stay_. And now she _does_."

Alistair cleared his throat having found that it had tried to give up on him.  
"She does what?" He questioned, heart pounding.  
Salvia gestured with her thumbs in a dramatic manner. "Wears a smile!"  
She followed this by grinning at him.  
"I think I know what she means. She tells me of her adventures. My d- he doesn't listen. I know _you _were there." She muttered. Alistair's stomach dropped.  
"And I think you _love_ her!" The girl shrieked it in an excited way, like a detective piecing together a puzzle. Her brow furrowed for the final time.

"And I think..."  
She trailed off indefinitely, her expression a confused and shocked one. They were both brought from her musings by the now-familiar sound of the door bursting open. This time, a heated conversation could be heard from behind it. Both Farridan and Trija exited, the latter at the front and taking brisk paces away from the man. Yet both with equal looks of annoyance on their faces. Salvia slipped off of Alistair's lap slowly, a look of reproach on her face.

The elven woman came to a stop in front of the little girl, kneeling down in the grass to look her over, as if examining her for any breaks or damage.

After a few moments, she squeezed her into a hug. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair could see Farridan, Trija's husband, looking at him as if he was either terribly puzzling or disgraceful. When he tried to meet the man's bitter gaze, he found him gone back inside. Anger twisting at him, Alistair comtemplated following for a small portion of a second before realising he was an idiot for thinking such thoughts.

"Sal," she wavered. Guilt pulled at him when Alistair realised Trija was crying. "You're going to go with Alistair to Denerim."

A look of complete confusion flooded the little girl's face as her mother picked the small girl up, swinging her to the other side of her body to carry the child quickly.

"What?" Alistair piped up, finding his voice. He let his feet beat the ground as he followed Trija and the quick trail towards his horse in the stables that she was blazing. He feared that his tone may have been too harsh and shocked, for the child began to cry in the heartbreaking way only a child can.

"Alistair, take her back to Denerim with you. She knows who her parents are. Take her for a better life there." She smiled wanly, as if this was everyday business.  
"But-"  
"No. What can I do for her here? What kind of life is just living in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to her name. I've done that for the first eighteen years of my life, the worst years of my life. It's no life for her."  
He was silent, much wanting to react like Salvia.  
"There's no Duncan to enscript her," she laughed bitterly. "But you can bring her home."

He looked at her as if she had just sprouted an extra head.  
"Please," she begged, her voice beginning to crack.


	11. All Roads Lead

_A/N: There will be this and an epilogue, then we are finished. Thank you so much for reading this far in this rather irregular tale.  
_**  
Chapter Eleven  
**_"I don't like to philosophize  
I just want to tell a story."  
**_  
He could feel the lump in his throat.

"I will." His voice was twisted by the situation and trying to hide the emotion not yet mastered in his short time as king. All he knew was that Salvia was still weeping without much sign of stopping. Seemingly out of nowhere, Alistair gathered the girl in his arms much more easier than it had been for the others to. She was warm, very warm, and he could feel her heated breath hitting his neck as her mouth adjusted, going through various stages of tears and almost breaking his heart.

Trija smiled weakly at him.  
"Here, take this," she delved into her sleeve for something. "It...it might not look like much, but it's always been with me."  
"The morning of my eighteenth birthday, a few days before my arranged marriage ceremony, I sat by the Vhenadahl. I wasn't looking for anything, I was just lonely. I looked to the sky and a beautiful, almost purple bird landed on my closest branch. We sat and stared at each other for a bit."  
She held out a beautiful purple feather to him, the tips striped with silver.  
"My mother always said that those particular birds circled the Alienage, and only landed when they saw a lonely little girl. I always thought it was just something she said, of course I never believed her. She was...not eternally capable of being pleasant. But, who knows? Maybe it shall bring you good luck. It did for me; I found you."

The sun was muffled being a thick layer of fog, representing his head as he tried so hard to clear it and think straight for just this second.  
"I don't know what to say."  
"Take it with you," she almost demanded softly. "Please."  
Alistair reached out hesitantly to take the feather, realising that his daughter had softly stopped crying, intently listening to the story.

Trija gently trailed her hands to the back of his neck to embrace him one last time. Alistair felt pathetic.  
"Please don't do this," he pleaded. The woman gently placed a lingering kiss on his cheek, pulling back to look at him sadly.  
"I'm sorry."  
She kissed Salvia's cheek too, gently causing the girl to begin crying, yet this time sobbing softly. He was once again struck by how one so young could possess such depth to her emotions.

Trija gently prised the arm belonging to Salvia that had fallen onto her shoulder, almost having to place it back for the girl.  
"Don't worry," she said almost silently. She placed the feather into the girl's open palm. "I love you. Both of you." She smiled a watery smile.

"Now off you go." Trija couldn't quite fathom that the words had issued from her own mouth, and that she could manage them, yet she understood her choices even as they started to walk away from her.

Her mother was always terrified of crying in front of her. That is, the time she would actually spend with her daughter. Adaia was always scared to commit to her family. Not Trija; she would do anything for hers. And she had.

"Mum..." Salvia whimpered, looking over her shoulder awkwardly from in front of Alistair.  
Trija raised her hand in a wave. It was impossible for the little girl to make out her expression from where she was, even as her mother shrank in the distance as they pulled away from her.  
Her tears were thick and fast now, and hot against her clammy skin.  
"Goodbye." She sniffed, waving her palm. She looked up at the man with her, and found a slight comfort as he smiled wanly down at her.

* * *

The old woman felt the wiry hair on her head, pulling the strands so they hung straighter around her cheeks. She gently cleared her throat for the talking she would have to do. She had fallen asleep in her chair again. She gently stretched her limbs, stiff with rheumatism before heaving herself out of the solace of her plump armchair. Another dreamless sleep.

As if almost on some ungiven cue, the door to her home was gently pushed ajar. She smiled. After a good few seconds, it opened.

"Particularly shy today, hmm?" She beamed at the child. He took a few moments to nod hesitantly, his timid nature taking control.  
"Well, come in, come in. The rest of them can, too." She laughed, pausing for a few moments to cough soon after. The little boy grinned in triumph, letting the rest of his friends follow inside the house.

The old woman was back in her chair again, grinning down at them all. "Well?" She offered. Silence. One of the less painfully shy children spoke, a little girl with blond ringlets.  
"There's a new ship at the Waterfront. It's huge and beautiful. My Daddy told me it's a gift for one of the royals."  
The old woman nodded slowly. "That, my dear, is no ordinary gift," she mused, rather enjoying their unconditional attention. "The King had that made for the Lady Salvia. My sources tell me it's for her to explore in the search of whatever she may need. Rather as beautiful as she is."

The little blond girl blushed and grinned at that, but some of the young boys made "yuck" noises, resulting in elbows in the ribs from the few girls there.

"Well, my Dad said it's haunted, and that the Lady is cursed." One of the little boys piped up.  
The old lady searched for the voice in the crowd.  
"Ah, there is a story about that," she lowered her voice dramatically, all the children leaning in to listen closely. "They say that the late Queen could not bear children, and Andraste herself placed the Lady Salvia right on the doorstep of their Royal Majesties." They were all listening intently this time.

"But there's also a rumour that the Hero of Ferelden herself haunts the man who chose duty over her so many years ago. They say that when the elves were building the ship, every full moon a misty and beautiful ghost would glide past the boat, lamenting her lost love. They also say that she glides around the old Alienage, and poses in the form of an elderly elven maiden to talk to the lonely little girls sitting by the Vhenadahl."

The little girl with ringlets gasped, causing all the other children to jump.  
"But the more common rummour is that the Hero _lives_ in the Vhenadahl, and will come out if the Lady Salvia ever dares thinking of marrying."  
Surprisingly, the little boys of the group did not hide their amazement. The shy one who had been first inside spoke up.

"And-and has she?"  
The old woman narrowed her eyes to the ceiling, lost in thought.  
"Not yet."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, just pondering on the matter. Rain began to fall. After the sounds of the rain deepened, a few of the children sprang up from the floor.  
"Oh, bother. My Mum'll kill me being out in the rain again." The quiet child spoke. The elderly lady beamed.  
"I guess you'd better go and get in the rain, then." She laughed. Some of the children eyed her suspiciously, the more shy ones hiding their admiration.  
"Yeah..." The little boy trailed childishly. Some of the children giggled to themselves, some of them were silent, some of them even whispered to each other, mentioning words like "witch" as they left.

Watching the door close in its frame gently, the woman sank deeper into her plushy chair. She brought up a hand to massage her temple as she listened to wind howling outside.

"Kerren," came a voice from the back of the room. She hadn't noticed she had been there the whole time, grinning at her after all these years.  
"My dear!" Kerren boomed, wishing she could spring from her chair. "You look...no different!"

The elf chuckled. "Oh, Kerren. You know I look terrible. But that was a nice story you told, there."  
It was Kerren's turn to chuckle. "Ah, thank you very much. I wish I could say I invented them, but you know the rumours."  
The other woman nodded as she sank into a chair near Kerren's. A lengthy and companionable silence fell between the two.

"Kerren?" She questioned at the woman's stillness.  
"Oh, my dear," her voice began to crack. "I don't think I shall live much longer."  
The tears were already streaming from both the elderly and the middle-aged woman's faces as the latter knelt in front of Kerren's chair.

"I'm here." She offered weakly, lacing her hand into the elderly woman's.


	12. Epilogue: Hear My Song

**Epilogue: Hear My Song**

_"Hear my song:  
It'll help you believe in tomorrow  
Hear my song:  
It'll show you the way you can shine  
Hear my song:  
It was made for the time  
When you don't know where to go  
Listen to the song that I sing.  
You'll be fine."_

_**  
_The Denerim estate appeared to be a cold one; it was an almost archaic stone building with quite an eerie look from the outside. Any passerby with next to no knowledge of its inhabitants might shiver and pull their travelling cloak around their body.

The insides of its halls where decorated in a plush and earthy green, an almost different world to its exterior. Inside those halls roamed a young woman. She let her small slippered feet hit the rug-covered stone floor in search of whom she was looking for, gathering her skirts for better access as she went.

Her long brown hair was tangle-free for once, looking freshly brushed and swept to her back, and there was a tired look that hung in her tired almost-grey eyes. By her demeanour, it looked as if even she had been decorated to match the interior design, and she walked as if she knew exactly that.

The elderly servant in front of her looked over his rather crooked shoulder, trying to speed up when he noticed who was tailing him.

"Hey!" She yelled. "Recro!"  
The elderly man didn't stop, even when she caught up with him.  
"Where are you going in such a hurry, Recro?" She teased, slightly out of breath from the charging through the halls she had just done to find him. She was a lot taller than the man; she was quite tall compared to most women, and Recro had started to become frail with age.

"Oh, my Lady Salvia, I-I didn't hear you," he twirled his cane. "Horrible hearing."  
"Oh, don't be so uptight, Recro. And there's quite no need to bother with this 'My Lady' or 'Your Highness' business, either," she paused for a moment, bracing herself as she hooked an arm through his. "I need your help."  
The man turned properly to face her and quickly turned away again, making a gesture that was like that of one trying to shield their eyes from evil.  
"I should think the last time I 'helped' you I got into rather a lot of trouble with your Father," he grumbled. "And where are you go dressed so...?" He trailed off with an accusing tone, waving his cane to accentuate what he could not bring himself to say.

Salvia looked down at herself, moving her arms dramatically. "What? Things have changed since your day, old man. It's only about the same length as my leather armour, and you've seen me in that!"  
Recro paused to glare at her in the eye. "_Yes_, but this is different. Go and get changed, you'll get us all in trouble again."  
"Ah, well see, that's what I need you for," she paused again. "Now you're not going to like this, but I just need to nip outside for, er, a bit. I need you to tell my Father that I've been with you for the past few hours or so a-"  
"Oh dear Maker." He interjected.

Foots echoing in the narrow stone hallway could be heard around the corner, familar voices following soon after. Salvia knew she was done for.  
"Uh oh...quick, Recro, er, help me think of a plan."  
The servant looked like he was doing no such thing as Salvia panicked, gesturing to him in an unbeknownst and frantic manner.  
"Oh Maker!" She exclaimed when she heard the sound of footsteps grow too close. She quickly hightailed it back to Recro, trying to hide her guilt by subtly stepping half-behind the man. Recro sighed outwardly.

The two men she failed in trying to avoid this particular day rounded the corner, the older man animatedly telling the younger a tale, by the look of it. He stopped, and both men ceased in their footsteps to stare at the scene in front of them.

Recro spoke up, his over-used voice hoarse with age and supressed anger.  
"Good evening, Ser Morbray. Your Majesty." He addressed the men as if it was quite normal to have a rather tall princess hiding behind the estate's oldest servant, looking well as if she believed she was well hidden.

"Recro..." the older man trailed off in his speech. Recro noted that he looked quite a bit older today, especially to when he had first saw him all the years prior at the now often exaggerated Landsmeet. The king took a few steps away from the younger man in the direction Recro blatantly staring over his head at Salvia. He cleared his throat. Salvia looked up from her position as if she had just spotted the, begrudgingly stepping out to stand beside Recro.

"Father. Ser Morbray." She tried to echo Recro's officious tone despite the scenario.  
The King's eyes widened almost as quickly as the tips of the tousle-haired Ser Morbray's ears turned a bright red.

"Dear Maker!" Alistair gasped. "Where on earth are you going dressed like that, Salvia?"  
Her stomach dropped. She knew he meant business because he used his "I-brought-you-into-this-world-I-know-just-how-to-embarrass-you" voice.

"I was..." she decided to keep the peace for once. "I'm going back to get changed. Recro already persuaded me to."  
Recro looked up at the mention of his name, looking rather sheepish.  
"Oh...yes." Recro offered.

Aistair looked between the two unlikely friends. "Hmm, well then. I suggest that would be the best thing to do, you'll catch your death like that. And besides, you're hardly old enough to dress-"  
Salvia interrupted him quickly before he embarrassed her. "Okay, okay, Father. I will, er, right now."

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek in the manner of which a small child would, partly because she knew it was her bargaining chip. She ceased to resist the urge to wink at the rather nervous Morbray as she headed back down the corridor in the direction of her quarters.

"That girl will be the death of me." Alistair piped up. The other men didn't reply, but there was a sense that they all agreed.

**  
Salvia looked up from the book she was reading when she heard a knock on her door. Her waiting maid, Letrya, had left about an half hour before to run some errands, and must be back early, Salvia mused.

She plonked down her book on the end table next to her, crossing the room and regretting taking off her footwear. Her brow furrowed when she spotted who was not there.

"Morbray!" She grinned. "Come in, Letrya's out."  
She pulled him inside the quarters before he had much chance to object to it, or object to the usage of his surname. Salvia wasted no time, standing on her tip toes to kiss the young man. Her hands went to his face, him not objecting as his arms found their own way to her waist.

He eventually pulled away before she could deepen things.

"Your Father, I think he knows something. About us." He gulped.  
"Nonsense! I think I'd know if he did." Salvia refused to stop her kisses now, resuming them without hesitation. The young man was forced to speak around them.  
"Yes. I don't think we should...you're the princess."

Salvia stopped for a moment. "And you're a Knight. Exciting, isn't it?"  
Morbray laughed in spite of himself, gently touching the touching the exquisite purple feather she always had on a delicate thread around her neck.

She looked at his hand as he did, before raising her eyes to his, hers seeming heavily lidded from her eyelashes and emotion. Instead of kissing him, or forcing herself to be some seductive character, she rested her head on his shoulder. Morbray's arms fell around her waist.

They were unsure of how long they stood like that, in peace, as cliché as it would sound to even suggest aloud.

A cough sounded from the suddenly open doorway. Salvia's elven lady-in-waiting and confidant stood in the doorway, fresh linens in her arms. The young woman was about the same age as the princess. They had been quite close since Salvia had came to Denerim, probably as they were both new and out of their depths.

"Excuse me, my Lady." She offered, trying to hide the smirk that was forming on her lips as she crossed to the bed.

"Ah, yes, Letrya. Morbray was just...dropping off," Salvia looked around the room almost frantically "a new sword!"  
She held up one resting on a plush armchair next to her.  
"Yes, I bet he was, ma'am." The elf quipped, quickly exiting the room with her now-empty basket, a furiously blushing Morbray following her, trying to smile at Salvia as he did.

She returned the smile before shutting the door behind them. She crossed the room again silently, staring at the now-empty chair by the wide window left from the sword's resting place. Throwing the sword on the bed, she allowed herself to collapse into the chair. She looked out onto her perfect view on the townspeople going about their daily business and felt a strange emotion. Salvia pondered on the situation. She loved her life, but there was guilt and grief and regret. And, of course, doubt; in herself and her relationship with Morbray.

She placed her elbow on the windowsil, massaging her aching temple gently. Salvia looked around the room to ensure she was definitely alone.  
"Oh mother," she whispered, to no one in particular. "What would you do?"


End file.
